


The Kiss

by keelhaulrose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 14:10:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12322554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelhaulrose/pseuds/keelhaulrose
Summary: Sam and Dean are hunting a soul-eater they can't see or identify, and in the process Sam meets a woman that leaves him conflicted. How will he react when he discovers the woman comes from a world he doesn't know anything about other than they are enemies. What will he do when his heart and soul are on the line?





	The Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one-shot, and I don't have any intentions of continuing the story line. I have another HP/SPN crossover in the works, but this is separate.
> 
> Rated M for adult situations, language, and talks of violence.

“Pardon me, do you mind if I sit with you?” a soft voice cut across the din of the crowded restaurant, causing Sam Winchester's head to snap up. Standing before him, clutching a tray of food, was a pretty woman with unruly brown curls and a warm smile. He looked her up and down several times in silence, automatically suspicious of anyone new and unfamiliar, looking for something wrong with her, some reason why his guard should be up.

“Seats seem to be at a premium,” she tried again, sounding almost sheepish as she glanced around, and he followed suit, noticing that all the tables were filled except the four-top he was sitting at alone.

“Yeah, sorry, one second,” he said with an awkward smile, unceremoniously scooping up the books and papers he had laid out and dumping them on the seat next to him, then moving his laptop so the spot directly across from him was free.

“Thank you so much,” she said, setting her tray down and sitting across from him with a smile. “It's not that I mind eating while standing, but the tray is somewhat cumbersome,” she added with a smile.

“It's not a problem,” he replied back with a smile of his own. He couldn't help but study her a few more times, feeling like there was something off about this woman, who looked to be no older than Dean, but being unable to place a finger on what might be causing that feeling. When she looked down at herself, biting her lip and looking a bit self conscious he realized she had noticed him staring, and tried to recover with, “I like your accent, by the way. Can I ask where it's from?” but wincing inwardly as the words came out.

“Thank you,” she replied. “I'm originally from the suburbs of London.”

“What brings you out here?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Work,” she shrugged. “I'm just helping some locals deal with a minor crisis that, apparently, they're unable to deal with themselves.”

He let off a soft chuckle. “I know what that's like,” he replied, shooting a glance at his computer screen. “I'm Sam, by the way.”

“Hermione,” she replied, holding a hand across the table for him to shake. “So, are you a student?”

“Oh, no, I'm, um, just here, doing some local research. History and stuff,” he said.

“That sounds interesting,” she nodded, though she looked skeptical.

“No, it doesn't,” he chuckled. “It's a small town without a lot of history. A couple famous people to it's name, a high school football team that does okay every so often, that sort of thing.”

“But... here you are.”

“Yeah, well, I guess a lot of places have secrets if you dig hard enough.”

She cocked her head to one side and studied him for a moment. “Sounds a lot like people,” she said softly.

He narrowed his eyes and was about to ask her what she meant when Dean dropped into the seat next to Hermione with a wide smile.

“How are you doing?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and making no effort to hide the fact that he was checking Hermione out, and that his eyes lingered on her chest.

“Stop that,” Sam grumbled, shaking his head. “I'm sorry, Hermione, this is my brother, Dean, and he's not known for manners.”

“Aw, lighten up, Sammy,” Dean smiled again, turning towards Hermione. “So... Hermione, was it? Very interesting name.”

“Apparently my parents thought so,” she replied.

“I think they picked something quite... beautiful. So, what brings you to hanging out with the less interesting of the two Winchester brothers?”

“He happened to have room at the table,” she shot Sam a half smile. “At least, when he cleared his books away he did.”

“Not surprised this nerd took up a whole table for his books,” Dean chuckled.

“He didn't have to stop reading on my account,” she pointed out. “I love books. I have one in my bag I intended to read during lunch.”

“Hey, I love books, too,” he backtracked. “Reading is... is fundamental. That's what they say, right, Sammy?”

Sam rolled his eyes and mouthed, “I'm sorry” to Hermione before turning back to his brother. “Find anything?” he asked Dean.

“Fat lot of nothing,” Dean replied. “You?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head.

“I swear, this town is the most frustrating place,” he sighed, picking up a bag of chips off Sam's tray and looking at them in disgust. “Veggie chips? Only you would think this rabbit food is good,” he grumbled, tossing them back onto his tray, causing the few left to scatter. “Is all they serve here salads?”

“No, they have other things. But it's all vegetarian,” Sam replied.

Dean let off an exaggerated huff. “I'm not doing it, Sammy. We can talk more after I go get some real food. I'll be at the diner down at the corner when you're done with your pathetic excuse for a lunch.”

“I'll be down in a bit,” Sam replied evenly.

“Hope to see you again soon, Hermione,” Dean shot her a wink and one more smile before getting up and walking out.

“I'm really sorry about that,” Sam looked at Hermione apologetically.

“Don't be,” she smiled, shaking her head. “He is quite the character.”

“You didn't see him in top form,” he rolled his eyes. “Get a cheeseburger and a couple of beers in him and he wouldn't leave you alone that easily.”

“Ah, well, maybe you can let him gently know I'm flattered, but not interested.”

“If I tell him that there will be no gentle about it. He needs to be smacked in the head with reality sometimes if you want him to get the message.”

She giggled, then bit her lip.

“I should probably get going, I think I need to hit up the library before I go talk to him, and with the way he eats I have next to no time,” he sighed, closing his laptop and starting to put his things away.

“And to think I'll miss that spectacle,” she sighed dramatically. “I guess I'll just have to do without.”

“Or you could wait a couple hours before he's hungry again. With as many bacon cheeseburgers as he eats it's a medical miracle he's still alive.”

She chuckled again, and he found himself joining softly. Part of him really didn't want to leave her, it had been so long since he had had a proper conversation with someone outside the realm of hunters he knew, and Hermione did seem like a good conversation partner.

“How long are you in town for?” he asked on a whim.

“I'm not exactly sure,” she shrugged. “Hopefully this job doesn't take too much longer, though it is nice to get away from the familiar for a bit.”

“Where are you staying?”

She scrutinized him for a moment before deciding it was safe to answer the question. “The Good Nite Inn, which speaks volumes for how much my presence is valued by those who called me over.”

“Oh, I know it,” he laughed. “We're there, too. I wouldn't mind the place butting up against the dairy farm quite as much if the cows didn't seem to insist on giving a 5:30 wake-up call.”

“Aren't they just awful?” she laughed. “The smell takes a bit of getting used to as well.”

“Eh, I'm used to it. I've traveled in the car with Dean with the windows rolled up after he's eaten some questionable truck-stop food.”

She laughed again. “I don't envy you one moment of that!”

“Nobody does,” he smiled before standing up. “It was very nice to meet you, Hermione. Hopefully we'll see each other around.”

“I'd like that,” she nodded, pulling a pen out of her bag and grabbing a napkin before jotting something onto it and folding it in half. “My hours are somewhat unpredictable, but I should be able to keep an eye on my phone,” she said, holding it out to him.

“Wow, um, great,” he said, taking the napkin and shoving it into his pocket. “Talk to you soon, then.”

“Good bye, Sam,” she smiled at him as he turned and walked out the door. He glanced at her through the glass as he walked away and saw her flash him a smile before he rounded a corner and started away from the cafe.

Inside a woman slid into the spot Sam had occupied moments earlier, starting to nonchalantly cut her flatbread while giving a smirk to her table mate.

“So, was that observe or deflect, Granger?” she asked.

“Hullo to you, too, Sarah,” Hermione exhaled and stirred her bowl of soup a couple times while studying the contents as her mind raced. “Those two break all the rules, I've said that before.”

“That doesn't mean you get to break them, too.”

“That man literally had Lucifer in him at one point,” she defended. “How often do you get to speak to someone who has gone through that?”

“Oh, is that what you talked about?” she raised an eyebrow, eyes alight. “Hello, sir, nice to meet you, I was wondering, what was it like rolling with Satan?”

“I did not...” she shook her head.

“Koppel is going to have both our heads if he finds out you talked to him.”

“Koppel is bungling this whole thing and has better things to do than worry about us talking to a couple Muggles.”

Sarah's face fell. “There was another one last night, wasn't there?”

“Unfortunately,” she sighed. “A teenager. Killed his mum for turning off his video game. Not remorseful in the slightest. They moved him off to the ward this morning.”

“That's four,” she said softly. “It's getting bad, and obviously those hunting Muggles have figured out that something is amiss.”

“I'm honestly surprised it's just the two hunters who have showed up. Koppel better get some more aurors here to help out, or there will be more, and it's going to be hard enough to keep those two away.”

“Especially if you're going to go and pique the interest of one of them,” Sarah replied, the smirk returning.

“I won't apologize for finding their work fascinating.”

“Oh, it's the work you found fascinating, is it?” she chuckled.

“Yes,” Hermione replied firmly.

“Only you, Granger. If you ask me, the other brother is cuter.”

“All yours. I don't think it would take much, to be honest.”

“Unlike you, I follow orders,” she replied with an air of finality, taking a bite as Hermione started to clear her things, knowing she had sat down on the job long enough.

 

XXXXX

 

“So, who's that Hermione chick?” Dean asked as Sam sat in the passenger seat of the Impala.

“Someone who was looking for a place to sit,” Sam replied blandly.

“That's it?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Pretty much.”

“Boring,” he rolled his eyes. “You at least get her number?”

Sam sighed, then held up the napkin before stuffing it into his pocket out of Dean's reach.

“Way to go, Sammy,” Dean smiled. “So, what do you really have?”

“I wasn't lying when I said I have nothing,” Sam sighed. “It's not a soul-eater, the victims are up and moving, which also rules out a Shtriga. We've gone through their houses several times and found absolutely nothing. I've looked everywhere and no one seems to know what the hell this might be.”

“Well, I got something, I managed to flirt the info out of a local cop, but it's not much. The victims all had the same story, icy cold, a feeling of dread followed by a feeling that their happiness had gone, rattling breath, and then... get this, a kiss.”

“A kiss?” he asked, confused.

“Yeah. A kiss. And then they'd black out, and when they woke up, nothing.”

“You think whatever this is _kissed_ their souls out?”

“Are we still so sure they're soulless?”

“They're soulless,” Sam shot back with finality.

“Okay,” Dean held up his hands in a sign of submission. “So, what's the plan?”

“I think we need to talk to them,” he said. “See if the info the cop gave you is reliable. If it is... we're back at square one, since I have no clue what they might be describing.”

“Yeah, Dad apparently didn't, either,” Dean nodded towards the journal sitting on the seat between them. “I looked through, twice, and still have no clue.”

“Let's go suit up,” Sam grumbled, stowing his things in the back before buckling his seatbelt. Half an hour later the Impala pulled up in front of the Canton police department and Sam and Dean, now clad in their suits, walked confidently towards the door.

“Agent Brewer, this is my partner, Agent Farner,” Dean said as they flashed their fake badges at the squat policeman behind the front desk. “We were sent here to talk to the four recent murderers you have.”

“You're too late,” the policeman looked at them quizically. “No one told you? Some feds been showin' up shortly after each one gets done confessin' and whisks them off to the mental ward or something like that.”

“Really?” Dean asked, surprised. “You're right, no one told us.”

“Well, that's something you're going to have to take up with your supervisor, isn't it?” he raised an eyebrow.

Dean opened his mouth but Sam grabbed his arm to stop him. “We will. Thanks,” Sam said, tugging on his brother to get him started towards the door.

“If you need something to do, agents, how about you deal with these tin foil hat wearing idiots?” the officer said, and when Sam and Dean turned back they saw him patting an overstuffed manila envelope.

“What's that?” he asked.

“Assholes who seem to think we caused the collapse ourselves to get money,” he replied with a sigh.

“The collapse?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Some stadium seats collapsed two months ago,” Sam hissed, sounding embarrassed. “It killed thirty one people. Wouldn't be shocked if you missed it, it was the same day as that terrorist attack in France and the presidential scandal, so it was buried in the news.”

“What? Some yahoos think people made some bleachers collapse on purpose?” he sounded confused.

“Unfortunately,” the officer replied. “They come out of the woodwork for everything,and these think we did it to cash in. Town's got money problems, hell, who doesn't these days? But to suggest that we killed all those people...” he took a deep breath. “Everyone in town lost someone they knew. Everyone. It's a small town, of course everyone knows everyone so really, those funerals were well attended. But these conspiracy theorists have lowered themselves to harassing the survivors, asking how much they made for it. We don't have the equipment or people to be able to track these people down, but it would be nice to stop them, you know?”

“Yeah, we know,” Dean muttered. “Well, how about you hold onto those for now and we'll ask our supervisor what we can do about them?” He turned and started walking off before waiting for a response.

“Sure,” the officer replied dejectedly.

“Have a good day,” Sam murmured before hurrying after his brother.

“You buy that bit about the feds carting them off to the crazy bin?” Dean asked as they sat in the Impala.

“Nope,” Sam replied.

“Didn't think so. Where was the last one when he said he felt that crazy stuff happening?”

Sam picked up a file and flipped it open. “He was cutting through the park on the far side of town, heading home from his girlfriend's house.”

“I guess we can go and take another look,” Dean grumbled irritably before putting the car in drive and peeling out of the parking lot.

 

XXXXX

 

“I thought most people went to a bar to drink and socialize, not get work done.”

The corners of Sam's mouth lifted into an involuntary smile at the sound of Hermione's soft accent even before he had the chance to look up and verify it was her. When he did her smile caused his to widen and he hastily pushed his laptop to the side and motioned for her to sit across from him.

“I'm not here voluntarily,” he defended. “Dean got a little frustrated today and pulled over at the nearest bar without any care to the fact that we're two miles from the hotel and I might not want to be here.”

“Well, that seems like it's poor form of him. Where is he? He didn't leave you here, did he?”

“No, he's, um, _socializing_ at the bar,” he nodded towards the opposite side of the room where Dean was flirting with a pretty blonde.

“Oh,” Hermione raised an eyebrow, and she flagged down a passing waitress. “Two more, please,” she said, holding up Sam's beer.

“How about you? Are you socializing, or are you here alone?”

“I guess I'm alone now, seeing as that's my work partner and the person I came here with that your brother is _socializing_ with at the moment,” she rolled her eyes.

Sam chuckled. “I guess we get to see which one of us gets kicked out of the hotel room for a few hours,” he said.

“Oi!” she laughed. “I have my own room, thank you very much. Sarah is... more local, so I don't need to share, though I'm afraid you're out of luck. She's...” she hesitated, then finished, “got some transportation issues. One person bike. And she doesn't seem the type to let strange men know where she lives. So if she and Dean are to leave together...”

“Ugh,” Sam groaned.

“Maybe you'll get lucky. Maybe she's going to string him along long enough that all the other available women will leave and then leave him alone.” She paid as the waitress set the two beers on the table and passed one across to Sam.

“I'm not holding my breath,” he muttered.

“Stranger things have happened,” she said, holding out her drink.

“That they have,” he smiled, clinking his bottle against hers before they took a drink in unison. “So, having a rough time at work? Just wondering why you'd be coming out to a bar on a Wednesday night.”

“Things aren't going well for another division,” she shrugged. “The higher-ups are coming down hard on the lead, and so the lead is coming down hard on everyone he can. Technically I'm not under him, Sarah is and I got called in as an independent contractor because of the sensitive nature of a few things, but that doesn't mean I escaped his wrath.”

“That sounds awful,” he replied.

“No need for consoling words,” she shook her head. “People have been blaming their incompetence on those underneath him since the invention of the workplace hierarchy. One day I'll escape it, but for now...” she took a long drink.

“So, whatever it is you're doing, it's not what you want to do?” he asked.

She looked at him thoughtfully. “I got into this job because I wanted to help people. But I entered with a bit of infamy under my belt and some skills that have, unfortunately, somewhat pigeonholed me, and it's not exactly what I had hoped to be doing. It's a paycheck for now, but I'm waiting to come across that job that makes me excited to want to go to work, or at least feel something more than indifference on the best days. I figure I'm comfortable enough right now, and it's not a horrid job, that I can take my time and be sure of my decision when I finally make the switch.

“What about you, Sam? Do you want to...” she paused, just long enough for him to notice, “...research for the rest of your life?”

“Some days I don't think I have much of a choice. I did, once, but it just seemed to call me back in.”

“That's not something you hear most people say about doing historical research on small towns,”she pointed out.

“Oh, so you meet many of us?” he smiled, and she laughed. “Okay, I'll make you a deal. I'll get out if you ever catch me wearing one of those re-enactor get-ups and carrying a fake gun around.”

She raised her eyebrow, but a smile played across her lips. “That seems like an invitation to keep track of you,” she pointed out.

“Well, I do have Facebook. I haven't checked it in I don't even remember how long, but I do have it,” he grinned.

“Well, then I guess I'll have to check up on you in person,” she responded coyly. “I have to say, it's not an unappealing prospect, meeting up every few months, getting drunk in a bar while your brother tries to pick up the biggest bust line in the place.”

“I prefer not to talk about my brother,” he grumbled.

“Not the first time he's done something like this?”

“No,” he shook his head. “And it won't be the last.”

They chatted for a while about the town and, once a band started playing, music that they liked. About an hour later Sam looked to the bar and his face fell.

“I guess I've got to wait to go back,” he sighed, and Hermione looked over to see Dean flashing them a thumbs-up as he followed Sarah out the door.

Hermione looked pensively at him for a moment, then stood. “Let's get out of here,” she said.

“What?” he looked up, surprised.

“Do you really want to be stuck in this bar listening to a Credence cover band that isn't good enough to play on the weekends until your brother finishes his latest hookup?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Not really,” he smiled.

“I'll take you back to the hotel, and you can spend some time in my room until your brother finishes up. If it makes you feel better I'll even promise I'll keep my hands to myself.”

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but shut it quickly and stood up, gathering his things. She left some money on the table and led him outside and to a small SUV. He climbed in and she started down the road. They had made it three blocks when they stopped at a light.

“Huh,” Sam muttered.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“Looks pretty foggy down that way,” he said, nodding down the next road.

She leaned forward to see, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“It's weird, I don't see it anywhere else.”

“Maybe there's a lake or something down there,” she suggested.

“I don't remember one.”

“That is weird,” she said, and drove forward as the light turned green. Less than a block later she pulled into a gas station.

“How about you grab us a six pack while I gas up?” she said, holding out a twenty dollar bill.

“I got it,” he said, getting out and heading inside. When he came back a few minutes later he found the car still at the pump, though the gas was no longer pumping and Hermione was nowhere to be found. As he put the nozzle back he noticed it had only taken five gallons to fill up, and as he pondered this a flash of light caught his eye. He turned, but the blue-white flash was gone, and Hermione was walking towards him from around the side of the building.

“Sorry, needed a quick trip to the loo,” she smiled.

“Did you see that light?” he asked.

“I saw a car with some of those new, ultra-bright headlamps,” she said, looking back.

“It didn't look like that,” he shook his head.

“Then, no, I didn't see it,” she turned, following his sight line but seeing nothing but darkness. After a moment she turned back to him. “Are you ready to go?” she asked.

He hesitated a moment. Part of him wanted to go investigate, to see if he could see the light or the fog again, having a feeling in the pit of his stomach that it was somehow tied to the soulless people, but what would he tell Hermione? A few seconds later he finally nodded, and started walking around the SUV to climb in. Just before he opened the door he looked back and swore he saw a person wearing a long, black cloak rush across the road towards the fog, but when he craned his neck for a better look he couldn't see anything, and he reluctantly climbed in. A few minutes later Hermione pulled next to the Impala in the hotel parking lot.

“Wow, our rooms are right next to each other,” Sam said as she stepped up to a door and pulled out a key.

“There's only about ten rooms in this place, I'm not all that surprised,” she said, opening her door and turning on the light. She motioned for Sam to put his stuff on a small table by moving some folders out of the way, then took the six pack from him and placed four in the mini fridge, handing one to Sam before sitting on one side of the couch. He looked from the bed, to a hard plastic chair next to the table, and he took a seat next to her.

“So, does Dean do this to you often?” she asked.

“Often enough,” he shook his head. “I wish he was a bit more considerate about it, but sleeping in the back of the car isn't bad most of the time.”

“You are a very forgiving man,” she smiled. “I don't have any siblings, but if I had to sleep in a car because they wanted a shag I would probably skin their hides. Besides, American cars are huge, more than enough room for a shag in the backseat.”

“Trust me, that's happened, too,” he chuckled.

She looked him over as a mischievous smile played across her lips. “Have you ever returned the favor?”

He chuckled nervously and shot her a smile. “I thought discussing those particular details was more of a third-date activity.”

She laughed. “It very well may be. I wouldn't know, it's been a while since I've been on a third date.”

“Long term boyfriend?” he asked.

“If you count my work, then yes,” she smirked. “Not to say I've never had a third date, I've had a couple, but...” she looked down, trailed off, and took a drink.

He studied her for a moment before confessing, “I had a girl once, one I saw a real future with. She...” he took a deep breath and glanced at her face, finding her eyes warm and sympathetic. “She was killed. Since then I seem to have bad luck with women.”

“I'm sorry,” she said softly. “I dated someone, one of my best friends, for four years. He was a good man, a very good one, but he was getting impatient for a family, and the thought terrified me. I had a lot going on, I just didn't feel comfortable even talking about having a family. So I pushed him away, threw myself into my work, started some advocacy projects I knew would be time consuming... I even canceled dates where I thought he might propose, and I finally broke it off before he could. I'm not proud of what I did, but I'm not sorry I did it, either. He is a very good man, but I think I was with him for the wrong reasons, and he deserves better.”

“Different,” he said softly.

She raised an eyebrow.

“He deserves different. Someone who has the same priorities he has. You're not a bad person for recognizing that you're wants and needs are different than his, and you're certainly not bad for leaving him when you realized that. If you ask me, it would be worse if you had stayed and brought a baby into this world that you didn't particularly want into a marriage you weren't completely invested in.”

She bit her lip and was silent for a long moment. “Thank you, Dr Phil. What do I owe you for the session?” she finally said softly.

He chuckled. “Not all of us are cut out to be family people, Hermione,” he added. “That doesn't make those of us not on that path somehow less than those who are. Don't sell yourself short because it didn't work out with your boyfriend because of that, and don't kick yourself for the way you ended it. It's okay to want to be with someone but also to know it's not right, and to be conflicted about it. In the end you did what was right for you, and there's nothing to be ashamed of in there.”

She let off a long breath. “I beat myself up over it until he started seeing someone else, until he married her, really. I knew I shouldn't, he's happy, but I still feel I did it wrong.”

“I know how you feel,” he nodded.

“Well, this has been a pleasant conversation,” she said with a half-hearted chuckle. “Any other pleasant topics we should cover? Politics or religion, perhaps?”

At that moment a soft knocking noise started coming from the next room, and they looked at each other in unison.

“Guess he didn't waste much time,” she smirked.

“He never really does,” he shook his head.

“Does it ever bother you to know so much about his sex life?”

“It's a hazard of spending so much time around each other.”

“That has to be rough.”

“That is the least rough part of the job.”

“Research is that difficult?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He hesitated, then said, “More like everything that comes after the research is difficult.”

“I wouldn't know. I rather liked the research when I was in school, and all the writing after, though don't tell my boss now, or I'll be made to write extra reports.”

“My lips are sealed,” he smiled.

“Do you need another?” she asked, shaking her mostly empty bottle.

“Yes,” he said, before finishing his own.

“I'll be right back,” she said, standing and heading into the bathroom. He stood up and retrieved two beers from the fridge, opened both, and started back to the couch when he stopped. He glanced at the bathroom door, then leaned over to look at the files on her table. The top one was blank, but he could see writing on the one underneath. Carefully he moved the top folder, and read the writing.

“MACUSA: confidential,” he muttered. He debated opening it, to see what she might be working on, but because he hesitated he heard the toilet flush and the water start to run as she washed her hands. Quickly he replaced the top folder and went back to the couch.

“Got them,” he said, holding the beer up when she emerged from the bathroom.

“Thank you,” she said, sitting back down, and he noticed her body was turned more towards his than it had been before she had gotten up. He felt a warmth rush through his body as he realized how much the small gesture meant to him.

“So, where do you call home when you're not traveling?” she asked.

“Nowhere in particular,” he shook his head. “We have some friends here or there that we crash with when we're not busy, but we don't really have a permanent place.”

“Oh,” she said softly.

“You sound upset about that.”

“I wouldn't call it upset. I'm not sure what to call it. I strongly feel that no matter how often you're traveling you need a place to call 'home'. Just a place to escape to when things get rough.”

“I guess we have a few places,” he smiled. “You'll never find a more loyal group than the people we call friends. They're more like family. Their doors are unconditionally open and I know that because, trust me, we've done a few things that some people might consider unforgivable. We've got one, Bobby, who considers us like his adopted sons. That's home enough for me.”

She smiled warmly at him. “Well, if you're ever in the upper part of New York I have a small house up there. It's not much, but it has a guest room and the view is spectacular. It's worth staying just to watch a sunset. I wouldn't mind a visit.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised.

“I don't know what it is about you, Sam, but I don't remember the last time I felt so comfortable around someone so quickly. Maybe it's just one of those things that happens when you spend time with someone listening to their brother have sex with your work partner.”

He laughed, then cautiously reached out to cautiously take one of her hands. She smiled down at the sight, running her thumb across his before looking up into his eyes. There was a warmth in her eyes, but also a longing that he suddenly found himself unable to resist. Slowly, cautiously he leaned forward, carefully studying her as he did, looking for any sign of hesitation, but she straightened and leaned forward herself in anticipation. He closed his eyes just before his lips touched hers, hesitantly at first, but something in her kiss was different than anything he had experienced before, there was an energy to it, almost as though it was enticing him to stay connected to her. He couldn't think too much about it, the thrill of actually kissing her taking over and leading him to deepen this kiss, moving one hand to wind into the hair in the back of her head. She leaned into him, hands running up his shirt to wrap around his shoulders. He playfully caught her bottom lip in his teeth for a moment, not expecting the soft moan that escaped her at the action, the whisper-quiet sound sending a jolt of excitement through his stomach which settled below his belt. He took his other hand and put it on her back, pulling her closer to him so he could feel her held tight against him, her breasts pressing against his chest with each breath she took. Time seemed to stand still, he was sure that he needed to break away, to catch his breath, but he found himself unable to do so. He let his hands start to wander her body, yearning to learn her curves, to know every inch of her. A flash of a thought went through his mind, that for the first time in a long time he was lost completely in the moment: Dean, demons, angels, monsters... everything else vanished for that blissful time he was kissing Hermione, as though she could somehow protect him from everything that caused him unrest through just her touch.

It could have been minutes or hours later, neither had any idea, when they finally broke apart. Their faces were mere inches apart, each studying the other as though the kissing had somehow changed them, made them a new or different person, though simultaneous smiles spread across their faces. He placed a hand on her cheek and used his thumb to brush away one of her unruly curls. A dozen things he wanted to say to her sprung to mind, but his lips wouldn't form the words, he was too happy reveling in the sight of her and her kiss-swollen lips.

The sound of Dean's door opening drew their attention away, and they shared a look that seemed to agree that they wanted to hide away just a little longer, but unfortunately a voice came wafting through the thin walls.

“Granger? You back yet?” Sarah called. “I see your car! Open up!”

“Damn,” Hermione grumbled, standing up and doing the best to straighten her hair and shirt. Sam stood, too, tugging his shirt down and hoping that it covered his erection.

“Can I help you?” Hermione asked in annoyance as she opened the door.

“Good to see you, too, Granger. Guess what? I'm crashing with you,” Sarah beamed, standing in the doorway to Sam and Dean's room. “See, Dean? I'll be fine. No need to take me back.”

“I've got to go back,” Dean shrugged, pulling on his jacket and swinging his keys around one finger. “Sam is going to be pretty upset if I leave him at the bar all night.”

“Um, actually, no need for that,” Hermione said, and at that moment Sam appeared next to her in the doorway. Dean chuckled knowingly as Sarah smirked, and rather than say anything in their own defense Sam bent to give Hermione one more long, slow kiss.

“I'll talk to you soon,” he murmured.

“I look forward to it,” she smiled, giving his hand a quick squeeze. “Shall we exchange them, then?” she asked, looking at Dean.

“If you want,” he beamed. “If you want to keep Sammy for the rest of the night...”

“Good night, Hermione,” Sam said loudly, shooting her a smile before going into his room. Sarah turned around and shared a conspiratorial glance with Dean before walking past Hermione into her room.

“So... was that observe or deflect?” Hermione asked with a smirk.

“Oh, I observed, Granger, and it was glorious. That family has good genes,” Sarah said, sinking onto one of the queen beds.

“I take it you enjoyed yourself.”

“Very much so,” she sighed happily. “Looks like you did as well.”

“Not as much as you,” she replied, grabbing one of the last two drinks from the mini fridge.

“Do you want to? You can get him back in here, I don't want to stop you.”

“Thanks, but it's probably best you interrupted. I might have let things get out of hand if we had been left alone much longer.”

“If he's anything like his brother it would be totally worth letting things get out of hand. You should try it.”

“Later, hopefully,” Hermione smiled.

“That's my girl. Now shut off the damn light, and let me get some sleep.”

In the next room Sam sat on his bed, and Dean held out a beer for him before reclining on his own.

“Hermione Granger,” Dean mused out loud. “I'm not going to ask what happened, but by the look on your face it was good.”

“We didn't do what you're thinking,” Sam shot back.

“You didn't?” Dean raised an eyebrow. He swung his feet back off the bed and studied his brother. “It sure doesn't look like you were playing checkers over there,” he noted, looking making a vague gesture towards the front of Sam's pants.

“I didn't say we didn't do _anything_ , just not what you're thinking.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You're not getting attached to this girl, are you?”

Sam didn't reply.

“You know that is a bad idea, right? And that it never ends well for us, and usually worse for them?”

Once again Sam didn't reply. Instead he stood, went into the bathroom, and sat for a while. He tried to look up MACUSA on his phone, but no results popped up. When he heard the creak of Dean's bed he gave it two more minutes, and when he emerged he wasn't surprised to find his brother already asleep. He stripped to his boxers and a t-shirt and climbed into the other bed. That night he had dreams of cold, of a a terrifying feeling of dread and hopelessness overcoming him, and, suddenly, a spectacular silver otter appearing from nowhere to protect him. By the time he woke the next morning he didn't remember the nightmares.

 

XXXXXXXX

 

The Impala's wheels squealed in protest as Dean hit the brakes hard enough that Sam needed to brace himself against the dashboard. The moment it stopped he and Dean jumped out, jogged towards the door of the police station, wrenched the door open, and went inside.

“You're back, agents,” the same officer was manning the front desk. “You didn't miss her this time.”

Dean let off an audible sigh of relief. “Have you interviewed her?”

“Yes, but it's the same as before. She got mad at her husband, she shot him once in the head and three times in the family jewels. Not sure which first.”

Dean visibly winced, then cleared his throat and asked, “Anything weird before?”

“Said earlier she was walking her route through around the old warehouse and felt a feeling of dread, next thing she knows she is heading home.”

“May we speak to her, please?” Sam asked.

“This way,” he nodded, ushering them through a door, down a hallway, and to another door. “She's in there. We were waiting to see if some feds showed up before we stuck her in a cell. They're all occupied at the moment, and after the first beat his cellmate to death...”

“Thank you,” Sam nodded, opening the door. When he walked in his eyes immediately fell onto the woman, a tall, plain woman wearing a security guard uniform and a scowl. When he looked into her eyes he stopped dead, a feeling of familiarity behind the orbs, and he studied her several times before he assured himself there was no way he had met her before.

Dean pushed past him to take the seat across from the woman. “Agent Brewer, that's Agent Farner,” he introduced curtly, picking up the file on the table. “So, Mrs. Reed, how about you tell me what happened.”

“That sonofabitch has been cheating on me for months,” the woman replied, a smirk on her face. “I guess I finally just snapped.”

“How about you rewind a little bit? Start at the beginning of the day, and walk me through it.”

“It was normal. Got the kids up, ready for school, kissed the sonofabitch goodbye, and dropped them off at school before going to work. I stayed in the guard house for the first two hours, did my rounds, stayed in the house another couple hours, then did my rounds again. Went to the guard house, checked Facebook, saw that whore had liked one of the sonofabitch's posts, and decided I had had enough of it. So I went home, got the gun, went to his shop, asked him to meet me outside, and shot him in both heads, starting with the one he used to think with more often.”

Sam pretended to look at the file to hide his wince. “Did anything out of the ordinary happen at work?” he asked.

She looked up at him, and for a second he thought he saw a flash of remorse cross her face. But if it was there, it was replaced in a blink by a stony grimness. “Yeah, actually,” she muttered. “Second time I was doing my rounds. Everything got all cold and dark, and I felt as though I might never be happy again. I heard something breathing, I don't know what it was, I couldn't see it and it sure wasn't human. I felt a kiss, though there was nothing there, and the next thing I know I'm on the ground and everything is back to normal.”

“A kiss?” Dean asked.

“Best I can describe it. A tingly feeling around my mouth, a feeling of something moving through it, then black.”

“And you didn't see anything?”

“I couldn't see anything in all that dark.”

“Even when it was right in front of you?”

“That's what I said,” she snapped.

“Which warehouse is this?”

“The abandoned Ingers building on the west side of town,” she replied

“OK,” he nodded, standing up and striding out of the room without another word, Sam on his heels. He led them out of the side door and hurried back towards the Impala. There was no question as to where their next destination was. Sam was already looking up directions to the warehouse as the engine roared to life.

 

XXXXXXXX

 

The only sounds Sam could hear was his own pounding heartbeat and the pounding of his shoes and Dean's boots echoing through the dark halls of the abandoned warehouse. He felt the presence closing in, though he still couldn't see it (he could barely see anything even with his flashlight), and as fatigue stole some of his speed he started to see his breath rising in front of him as an unnatural chill filled the air. He and Dean came to a large room that was empty save for some old, rusty equipment. The ceiling had caved in, and in the middle of the room nature had started to reclaim some of the area, and several plants had poked through cracked concrete. In the center of these, almost like it had been planted there deliberately, was a single wildflower, and as Sam watched frost began to form at the base and creep up towards the delicate petals.

“Move!” Dean shouted, and Sam heard fear in his voice. It wasn't often Dean showed fear on a hunt, but with something they couldn't see following them, and the only thing they knew about the thing was that it left people soulless, this case was one of the few that would cause his macho facade to crack. His older brother's hand roughly pushed Sam towards an emergency exit door, but as he slammed into it full force he quickly realized the door would provide no escape. Pain shot through his shoulder, radiating down to his hand, and the door stood resolutely shut. He jammed his elbow into the handle, jiggling it a few times, but the door refused to open. It was made of steel, so there was no chance of breaking it with a few kicks, though that didn't stop Dean from trying.

“Shhh!” Sam hissed, and Dean stopped moving. As they froze the room started to get darker, the sunlight from the hole in the ceiling getting inexplicably dimmer despite there being no clouds in the sky. Over their own panting breaths they could hear something else, a long, slow rattling breath.

“Over there,” Sam said, pointing in the direction of the sound, though they still could not see their pursuer. Dread started to fill his chest, and memories started flowing forward, his time in the cage, watching Dean ripped apart by invisible Hellhounds, Jess on the ceiling as fire enveloped her....

“Go!” Dean was pushing him, though the strain in his voice told Sam that Dean was also fighting horrible visions.

The two made for another emergency exit, but they had hardly made it three steps before Sam knew it was in vain, his lungs hurt too much from sucking in the freezing air, Lucifer's cackles sounded so close he was sure that it was him who was their unseen pursuer. Somewhere, and he couldn't tell where, he heard Dean fall over with a cry. He stumbled, felt pain shoot through his knee as the sound of his gun clattering to the floor registered faintly in his mind, managed to get back to his feet, and then felt them... two hands on either side of his face. Something in the back of his mind reminded him that the victims all felt a kiss and his hands flew to cover his mouth, but the thing's bony hands moved, taking his wrists, firmly pulling them away, the rattling breath mere inches from his face. He closed his eyes, trying to bring up the happy memories, the good things that he had lost the first time he was without his soul, knowing he was about to lose those forever...

“Expecto Patronum!” a female voice cried, and he saw a bright flash of light through his closed eyelids. The hands immediately released him as an inhuman shriek filled the air. Sam opened his eyes, his hands instinctively going for his backup weapon and holding it out, ready to fire. Dean popped up next to him, gun moving in several different directions, trying to point at something, but the sight before them was too bizarre to truly process. A silver otter stood protectively between them and what appeared to be empty air. The otter stayed low to the ground, every so often lunging forward or to one side, as if it were herding the unseen being back.

“Go!” the voice said, and Sam and Dean immediately turned, their weapons now trained on Hermione, who was not looking at them but instead holding out a stick towards the otter. A flick of her wrist and a cage appeared on the far side of the room, the otter backing the invisible creature back into it and waiting by the door as it slammed shut. Then the otter turned, staying exactly where it was, and Sam realized that the feelings of cold and dread had been replaced by warmth and the light returning, though his mouth fell open as he stared at Hermione in confusion.

“You're a witch!” Dean shouted, refusing to drop his gun.

She looked apologetically at Sam. “Yes, I am. I was born one, before you accuse me of consorting with demons.”

“It doesn't matter!” he growled.

“You two really should go,” she said firmly.

“Like Hell...” Dean started, but Sam interrupted.

“What is it?” he asked.

“A dementor,” she replied. “It's a creature that feeds off human emotion. They grow like a fungus, and tend to pop up in areas that have experienced a great tragedy, and this town has experienced a great tragedy.”

“What is that thing?” he asked, shifting his aim slightly to indicate the glowing otter.

“A Patronus. It's the only weapon against them.”

“Can you see it?”

“Yes, witches and wizards can. Muggles, sorry, non-magic people can't.”

His eyes locked with hers and he felt his stomach clench. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I'm not allowed. Revealing magic to non witches and wizards is illegal, and letting hunters know about our magical community is an immediate ticket to prison. If they find out about this they're going to wipe your memory, replace it with something you know, and send you on your way. And they'd be arresting me for telling you. Which is why I need you to go, I have to let them know about the Dementor and I don't want you around when I do. I sent you here because I thought it was safe, the team is getting what they thought was the last one across town, we didn't know there was another.”

“Does that Patronus thing kill it?”

“No. They're amortal, they're born of misery and feed off human happiness, the only way to get rid of them is to put them somewhere where they have no access to humans. We're putting them on a remote, uninhabited island until they waste away.”

“And they steal souls?”

“They can,” she nodded. “There hasn't been a case of it since they used to guard the wizard's prison until now, these ones are young, they're hungry, and they're going after souls to gain strength.”

“You use those things to guard a prison?”

“I may not consort with evil for my magic, but that doesn't mean everything in my world is good,” she said apologetically.

He looked at her for a long moment before the question he had been holding back finally burst forward. “Why?” he asked softly.

She swallowed hard and her eyes softened before she replied, “I don't expect you to believe me, but that wasn't an act.”

The cage rattled menacingly, drawing all their attention.

“Is it going to get out?” Dean asked, gun moving between her and the cage and back.

“I don't know,” she shook her head. “My job was to keep you two safe, I don't know anything about capturing and containing them other than using the Patronus. I didn't expect to run into one and it's not like they're a pleasant subject to study. Please, go,” she finished, looking pleadingly into Sam's eyes.

Sam looked at her one more time before lowering his gun and starting to back out of the room.

“Dean!” he hissed, but stopped dead as he realized his brother was still pointing his gun at Hermione's chest.

“She's a witch, Sam,” he said.

“She's helping us!” Sam protested.

“How do we know?” he countered. “Witches are monsters, they can lie like the rest of them. How am I supposed to know that she's not the one stealing souls? How do I know that this isn't some trick to get us out of town so she can keep doing what she's doing without us here?”

“If you kill her that thing could get back out!” he pointed out.

“How do I even know there's anything in there?” Dean shouted. “All I see is a glowing rodent and an empty cage.”

Hermione pointed her wand at a large pile of dust, kicking it up in a sudden wind that blew across the room, hitting the cage and revealing the faint outline of the towering, floating figure inside. The otter faltered, fading and flickering before going out of existence, and immediately Sam could hear Lucifer's laugh again as the room started to grow dark. He noticed Hermione had grabbed her left forearm, her face paling, before she stood upright and waved her wand and the otter burst forward once more.

“It could still be a trick,” Dean said, though his voice was strained as if he were unsure.

“If you want to risk me going back to that... person I was when I didn't have a soul, or you losing yours you can stick around and see how this goes, but I trust her enough to listen to her right now. Let's go,” he shot back.

Dean shot him a dark look and hesitated a few more seconds before he backed out of the room, gun still pointed at Hermione until he was out of sight. Sam locked eyes with her one more time, and she mouthed “I'm sorry” before he turned and followed his brother out. The two didn't exchange words as they climbed into the Impala and drove away as quickly as possible. They drove in silence back to town, coming to a sharp halt outside their hotel room. Sam went in and immediately started packing his things, but noticed a couple minutes later that his brother had taken up a perch by the window, looking out the crack between the wall and curtain.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked, holding his knapsack and a pair of socks.

“She's going to come back, right? She's got stuff in that room? I'll be waiting for her when she gets back,” Dean replied, punctuating his point by tapping his gun against his leg.

“No, Dean, forget it. Let's get out of here,” he protested.

“I'm not leaving. She's coming back at some point, and then I'm gonna do what I do to all witches we meet.”

“It's not going to work, Dean!” he snapped. “Her car is out there, she obviously doesn't need it to get around. Do you think she's just going to stroll up to her door? She probably expects you to ambush her.”

“If there's a chance...”

“Drop it, Dean!” he nearly shouted.

His older brother glared at him for a long moment, before cautiously saying, “Listen, Sammy, I know you and her had a thing...”

“That's not it,” Sam insisted, though a twist of his stomach told him he knew the truth was quite different. “She saved my soul, Dean. I felt that thing. I felt it...” he shuddered. “I never want to go back to what I was when I didn't have a soul. I'd rather be killed by pretty much anything else we've met than have that happen again. But it tried... I was almost there again today. Please, let's just leave.”

Dean looked conflicted for a long moment, then, without a word, tucked the gun into the back of his pants and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him. Sam heard the Impala roar to life a moment later, and the squeal of tires on pavement as his brother took off. He sighed, placing his bag down. He'd bet his last dollar his brother was heading to the furthest bar from the hotel that he could find while still staying near town. Dean would be back, he knew that much, though he would probably sleep it off in the car somewhere and come back with a headache and a foul mood. They'd exchange more words, Dean never liked leaving a monster alive even if he were conflicted about killing it, and the next day they would move on. The next few days would be terse, the talk only of their next job, there was even an off chance that Dean wouldn't come back for a couple days as he cooled off, but eventually they'd go back to what they were. They always did after their spats. It's what family did.

But now Sam was alone with his thoughts, and his thoughts kept going back to Hermione. Putting the pieces together he quickly realized that it was Hermione who had been playing the soulless woman they interviewed, but a quick computer check revealed that the actual incident had happened though the woman actually guarded a bank on the other side of town from where they had been sent. Hermione, or more likely whoever she was working for, had spirited away the actual woman and replaced her with a disguised Hermione, who fed them a lie to get them away from the actual danger, not knowing that one of those Dementors was loose where she had sent them. Or, perhaps, one had followed him and Dean, sensing the horrors in their past. Either way, it seemed unlikely Hermione wittingly sent them into danger, and she had arrived soon enough to stop it before any real damage had been done. As much as Dean would reject the idea, Sam was coming to realize that Hermione was a good witch, and that there was much more to the story than either he or his brother would be able to discover now that, in all likelihood, he would never see Hermione again.

He sat on the bed, taking several deep breaths, but unable to shake the dark feeling that seemed to radiate to his very bones. He turned on the television for something to do, afraid that if he fell asleep before the feeling went away the nightmares would be torture. He watched nothing in particular, ate the remnants of a sandwich that was left over in the fridge, and drank the last of the beer before switching to the tap water the room provided. The nightly news had just started when he heard a soft tapping on the door. His head shot up and his hand instinctively went for his gun as he analyzed who might be there. The police would announce themselves. It was too late for housekeeping. Dean would barge right in. Castiel wouldn't bother with the door. A surge of hope shot through him, but was immediately beaten back by the reality- there was no chance it was Hermione on the other side of that door.

He looked out the peephole, but didn't see anyone there, so he turned, pressing his back against the door to brace it, put his gun up to the wood, and opened it just enough to see outside.

No one.

He stuck his head out and looked around, but he didn't even see anyone on the street, nor did he hear any doors closing. Checking all around one more time he noticed a small box sitting just outside the door, so he stepped out and picked it up. He used his thumb to flip open the top, and found inside was a bar of chocolate with a note on top, a note written in the same careful, beautiful script Hermione's name had been written with when she handed him her number.

 

_Eat this. It will help._

_I am so sorry. For everything._

_I wish you luck from here on out._

_-H_

 

Cautiously he broke off a small corner of the chocolate and tasted it. Immediately some of the weight seemed to lift off him, warmth spreading slowly through his veins as the darkness left by his encounter slowly started to lift. He let off a groan of gratitude and took another large bite, closing his eyes as his body started to feel normal again. Opening his eyes and turning back to his room he noticed the curtain in Hermione's room move just a little, as if she had been watching to see if he accepted the gift. Without thinking he pulled the door to his room shut and strode to hers, knocking rapidly before he could change his mind.

“Hermione?” he called. “Hermione, please, open up. I want to talk to you.”

A long moment passed in silence, and he was torn on whether he should knock again, or take the hint and retreat to his room.

“You have your gun,” he heard her say through the closed door.

He looked down and realized that he did still have it in his hand, and he hastily shoved it back into the back of his jeans. A moment later the door clicked and opened a couple inches. He looked inside and saw her on the opposite side of the room, wand raised defensively, so he walked in with his hands showing, using his foot to close the door behind him. For several long, tense seconds they looked at each other in silence, so many things needing to be said, but neither wanting to be the first to speak.

“An old friend would like me to inform you that putting a weapon in your trousers is a good way to lose a buttock,” she finally said.

He chuckled in spite of himself, then smiled at her. “Thank you,” he said.

“I did nothing that deserves your thanks,” she replied softly.

“You stopped that thing from taking my soul,” he replied. “I've been there before, I will thank anyone who keeps me from going back.”

Sympathy flooded her eyes as she looked at him. “I am so sorry I put you and Dean in that position. I had no idea... I thought I was getting you as far away from danger as I could without raising your suspicions.”

“What did you mean when you said your job was to keep us safe?” he asked.

“I am actually a professor at a magical school,” she explained. “I teach Muggle Studies, and I am very good at fitting in with Muggles as I pretty much live as one when I'm not at school. So when MACUSA, the American wizarding government, had to deal with this they knew there was a good chance a hunter or two would show up to see what was going on. Muggles tend not to notice some of the eccentricities that witches and wizards who aren't used to living around them display, but hunters would notice that in a heartbeat and get suspicious. They needed a couple witches who could act as Muggles and not raise any suspicions, so they called in Sarah, who suggested that they get me to help.”

“So why did you come talk to me that first day?”

“As soon as you and your brother arrived in town we were given dossiers on you. Most hunters are watched by the magical community, in case they catch wind of our world, but they're not interfered with unless they happen to come across a member of our community. After reading yours... I was curious. How could someone who had experienced so much be so normal? Most people wouldn't have been able to experience half that without ending up on a ward somewhere, but there you were, not just living normally, but still going into those situations. I let my curiosity and an opportune situation get the better of me.”

“But you gave me your number.”

She paused, took a deep breath, and said, “I don't connect with people, Sam, not in the way some people do. It's always taken either a long time or a traumatic event for people to warm up to me, and I have never been with someone I haven't known for a long time first. But with you it was different. And even though I knew I shouldn't, I couldn't just leave it. I would rather risk getting in trouble than losing that connection after I had finally found something like that.”

He studied her, at a loss for words.

“I am very sorry I put you through all this, that I couldn't tell you the truth. I wish things had been different for us, but I don't know how they could have been.”

“Hermione...” he started softly. “I can't say that I've never felt that instant connection before, because I have. I'll be the first to admit it never seems to end well, and I can't say that the thought of walking away from you for your safety hadn't crossed my mind. But I can't. I'm not going to be the one to walk out of this room and away from this, though I understand if you need to.”

Her wand lowered towards the ground as she looked conflicted. “This is a bad idea, Sam,” she said softly. “You know as well as I do that hunters and witches don't mix.”

He shook his head as he stepped forward slowly. “That doesn't matter to me. It only matters that you're a good person. It'll be like Romeo and Juliet.”

She smiled and let off a soft chuckle. “They were teenagers. And dead by the end of it.”

“Bad example, then,” he smiled.

“Pretty much. Or, maybe, a very good example about why this is a bad idea.”

“I don't care,” he said, clearing the distance between them in two steps and taking her into his arms. His lips crashed into hers, and her wand fell to the floor as she wrapped her arms around him, throwing herself into the kiss. Without hesitation he lifted her up by the rear, wrapping her legs around his waist, and he backed himself to the bed and lowered down so she was sitting astride his lap. She grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled up, breaking away long enough to pull it over his head. His hands slipped under her shirt, and just the gentlest tug, helped by magic, seemed to pull the buttons free so he could slide the fabric down her arms without breaking their embrace. He clutched her back, feeling her muscles move under his fingers as she writhed against him, pressing her hips into his, feeling his erection straining under her. Sliding his hands up he found the clasp of her bra and deftly unfastened it, pulling that from her as well and groaning as he felt her breasts pressed up against his bare chest. He wound his fingers into her hair, holding her to him even though there was no fear of her leaving.

When just kissing her didn't seem like enough he carefully lifted her again, turning to lie her on the bed and hovering above her, drinking in the sight of her. Now that he could look he could see that there were some marks on her body, some scars that betrayed that there was much more to this woman than she let on, but he couldn't bring himself to ask at that moment. He ran his fingers down the largest of these, which ran from her shoulder to her breasts, then cupped one of the orbs, running his thumb across her peak, eliciting a soft moan for his attentions. When he lowered himself to her breasts she arched her back, desperate to meet him. He moved slowly at first, caressing each breast tenderly before running his tongue over one peak, then taking it into his mouth and gently sucking. Her fingers tightened on the skin of his back, urging him on, as his name spilled in a whisper from her lips. He lavished attention on each breast until her chest flushed in her excitement and her breath came in pants. Then he slowly stood, leaning over to take his time to pull her jeans from her, and stood, eyes moving slowly over her as he studied her, a smile growing on his face.

“Come now, fair's fair,” she said, propping herself up on her elbows and emphasizing her point by running her foot up his leg.

Without a word he took off his jeans, then laid back down next to Hermione, pulling her to him to kiss her again. Without breaking their embrace she pushed his shoulder and swung her leg over him, settling above him. She slid herself across his length a couple times, and he could tell she was already wet and ready for him, so he placed one hand between them and guided himself into her. She let off a satisfied sigh as she took all of him, then started rocking her hips against his. He ran his arms up her back to hold her to him as he started to thrust to meet her rhythm, and pulled her down to kiss her some more. She varied her pace, when she sensed he was starting to take control she would move maddeningly slow until he had calmed again, then speed up again as he hissed his approval. When he couldn't take her controlling everything anymore he placed one hand down on the bed and pushed them up into a sitting position. Placing his hand on her hips he guided her against him as his lips found her neck, shoulders and chest and she gripped his shoulders to stabilize herself. As her walls started to tighten around him he drew back, looking into her face as her eyes fluttered closed, her body coiled, her breath became ragged, and her head fell back as her release washed over her. The sight of her sent him over the edge as well, pulling her tightly to him as he climaxed inside of her.

When it was over he was loathe to let go, kissing her chest, neck, and finally her lips as they slowly came down together. He laid down and she carefully slipped off him, but molded herself against him, resting her head on his chest and reaching across to intertwine her fingers with his. He stroked her hair and occasionally pressed kisses to it or her forehead as they lay in blissful silence for a few minutes.

“Can we both agree that telling your brother about us would be a horrid idea?” she asked softly.

“You're right about that,” he chuckled. “I'm not sure which one of us he would shoot first. So, I think, for now, keeping us secret would be a good idea.”

She moved so she was resting her chin on his chest and looked at him. “But you want to tell him in the future?” she sounded unsure, but there was a tinge of hope in her words.

“We'll have to see how it goes, obviously, but I don't plan on hiding you from him forever. He'll just have to accept it once we feel the time is right to tell him.”

She moved forward, pressing her lips to his.

“What about your friends? Do you plan on telling them anything?” he asked.

“It'll be my job if this gets out,” she sighed. “Minerva is wonderful and probably would do her best to be able to keep me, but this isn't just a normal relationship with a Muggle. There's only so much she could do against the outcry, and I'd rather not put her in the position. Of course I'll tell my closest friends, once this develops a little, but only those I can truly trust.”

“Are you okay with that?” he asked, cupping her face.

“As okay as you are with the likelihood that someone is going to attack you in some way when the word gets out.”

“Romeo and Juliet have nothing on us,” he smirked.

“No, they don't,” she laughed, and he pulled her to him to kiss her again.

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

_One year later...._

 

Sam couldn't remember the last time he felt so like a child as he did following the giant man towards the gates of what looked to be the ruins of a once-grand castle. He twisted the charm Hermione gave him, something to keep the wards from causing him to run off to a forgotten appointment, as the man placed his hand on the wrought iron and pushed. The thick, rusted chains securing the gates snaked away, and the gate swung open.

“Come on in,” the man said gruffly, waving a hand as if there were a hurry.

Sam stepped through, and felt his jaw drop. The ruins were gone, replaced by a castle that positively dwarfed whatever those ruins appeared to have once been. Turrets towered to the sky, casting shadows that made it nearly to where they stood.

“She'll be waitin' for yeh if yeh go up ter the main doors,” the man said, and he could tell there was a smile in his voice. “I'm gon' tend ter the thestrals, they always need a little extra attention after pullin' those carriages along.”

“Thanks, Hagrid,” Sam muttered, shooting him a quick smile. Hermione had not warned him that the half-giant was going to be the one waiting when he got off the plane, and his appearance came as somewhat of a shock. Still, Hagrid had been friendly enough on the journey, and he seemed to not mind what Sam did. In the end his main concern seemed to be Hermione and her happiness, and Sam had seemed to pass whatever test Hagrid had put him through, because Hagrid clapped him on the back hard enough to nearly send him to his knees before starting to stride off towards his hut. Sam adjusted his rucksack and started across the grounds towards the stone arch. As he entered the heavy wooden doors swung open and Hermione, decked in a long black robe teaching robe, emerged walking alongside a strict looking woman in bottle green robes.

“Are you sure about all this?” the woman was saying.

“Yes, Minerva,” Hermione replied firmly. “Since when have you known me to act rashly?”

“I do recall quite a few times when you were a student...” the woman answered with a grin.

“Touche,” she chuckled. “But more recently?”

Minerva nodded, then looked appraisingly at Sam. “At least he is as attractive as you said he was,” she said.

Sam chuckled once as he looked to Hermione, who had a mischievous grin on her face. “Um, thank you?” he said nervously.

“Sam, this is Minerva McGonagall, she's the headmistress of this school. Minerva, may I present Sam Winchester?” Hermione introduced.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am,” he said, extending his hand. “Hermione has spoken very highly of you.”

“A pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Winchester,” she smiled as she shook his hand. “I would offer you two tea in my quarters, but Hermione claims you have a schedule to meet.”

“Unfortunately, we do,” Hermione replied.

“Well, then, I wish you both the best of luck. My door is always open, should you need it,” she said, and broke her stoic appearance to pull Hermione into a hug.

“Thanks, Minerva,” Hermione said softly, and McGonagall turned and headed back into the castle.

“So, that's the kind of woman you have around for girl talks?” Sam asked, walking up to her and putting an arm around her, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and took her hand so she could lead him into the school.

“I am the youngest woman here by about thirty years, and there's much more to Minerva than meets the eye. She was engaged to a Muggle once, but realized she would have to give up using magic to marry him, so she didn't go through with it.”

He looked at her, stunned. “You mean there are people like you who don't use magic just because they're in a relationship with a Muggle.”

“I'm the outlier, actually,” she replied. “I'm not breaking any laws because you knew about magic. But most Muggles don't, so it's against the law to tell them until you have to, which is, to say, you have children who display magical tendencies.”

“I didn't know about your magic, and your magical community,” he pointed out.

“What the Ministry doesn't know won't hurt them,” she replied conspiratorially, kicking her heel against a precise spot on the stairwell they were standing on, causing it to move.

“Didn't you say the American one keeps track of Dean and I?”

“Yes, and they know about me because I told the department. As long as I keep you from coming after our kind of witches and wizards they're begrudgingly accepting the situation, though I have been warned that a toe out of line will get you Obliviated back to before the Dementors ever showed up in that town.”

“Good to know,” he scowled.

“We're here,” she said, motioning towards a door.

“A girls' bathroom?” he looked at her, confused.

“You'll see soon enough,” she said, opening the door and leading the way inside. “Myrtle?” she called.

A moan erupted from one of the stalls, followed by a splash before Myrtle came gliding through the door and floated in front of them. “Is this him, Professor?” the ghost asked, excitement thick in her voice.

“Yes, Myrtle, this is Sam. Sam, this is Moaning Myrtle, one of a number of resident ghosts in this castle.

“Um, hi,” Sam nodded, looking confused.

“Ghosts of witches and wizards aren't like the ghosts you deal with,” Hermione explained, sensing his confusion. “They retain their minds about them, and very rarely will you encounter the ghost of a witch or wizard who goes violently vengeful who wasn't violent in life.”

“Really?” Sam looked surprised.

“Not the brightest, is he?” Myrtle cocked her head and eyed him.

“You'll have to excuse him, most ghosts he's dealing with are trying to kill people,” Hermione explained before turning back to Sam. “While there is a difference in how the ghosts act, the rest of it should be the same, including how to help one move on.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You brought me here to help her move on?” he asked.

“Oh, good, he can follow!” Myrtle squealed.

“I would have done it myself, but it is forbidden for a witch or wizard to do that to a ghost, as they are considered non-Magical part-humans and have some protections. Basically there was a law written a couple hundred years ago when a man wanted to destroy a ghost family that lived in a manor he wanted to buy, and there's no exceptions and thus far no challenges. I merely found a way around that law.”

“So you... want me to salt and burn your remains?” Sam looked at Myrtle.

“Yes,” Myrtle nodded. “I am the laughingstock of this school, and in death I am tormented just as much as I was in life. When I died, and that woman was there to meet me, I wasn't thinking straight. I still hadn't really realized that I had died. And so I stayed, because of a stupid decision made when I was barely fourteen years old. I don't want to be stuck in this toilet for eternity. When word got to me that Professor Granger was dating a hunter I asked her to come and explain, and when she did I decided to ask her to help me.”

“You know, I can't promise what's waiting for you on the other side, or even _if_ there is another side after you're salted and burned,” he pointed out.

“I know. It's a risk, but it's mine to take and I wish to take it.”

Sam looked at Hermione, and found her face expressionless. She would not encourage him one way or the other. Sighing he looked back at the ghost.

“Where are your remains?” he asked.

“Hagrid knows, and he'll meet you at the gate to take you there. He'll also do a lot of the grunt work, though the actual act has to be done by you,” Hermione told him.

He nodded once.

“I'll take you back to the gate,” she said, taking his arm and leading him from the room.

“You're not going with me?” he asked.

“She asked me to be with her. The ghosts, for the most part, aren't comfortable with it, and she doesn't want to be alone.”

“I'm not entirely comfortable with it, either, to be honest,” he sighed.

“If you don't want...”

“No, I'll do it. But it just... it feels more like putting down a person than a spirit. Most of the time it's a 'do or die' situation, but this is so much different. I'll do it, for her. As she said, it's her choice, and she'll make it.”

They walked in silence until they exited the castle.

“How have things been with...?” she trailed off.

“Worse,” he admitted.

“Do you see him now?” she raised an eyebrow.

“No, not since entering the castle grounds. But he'll be there when I get out.”

She exhaled dejectedly. “I've talked to healers, and they've never seen anything like that, so they weren't a lot of help. I have a number of potions that can help keep him at bay, but they're only a temporary fix, and their effectiveness will wear off over time.”

“I'll handle it, Hermione,” he said softly. “I don't need you worrying about it.”

“I know,” she murmured, stopping as they came in sight of the gate where Hagrid stood with a giant shovel. She stood on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for doing this. I'll come and get you when it's done.”

He bent to give her a quick kiss, then trotted off to Hagrid. She watched them disappear through the gate, then turned and hurried back to the castle, where Minerva was waiting for her in the entrance hall, the Grey Lady floating alongside her.

“Thank you so much for agreeing to be with Myrtle,” Hermione said to the ghost. “She and I never really got along, but I know she's frightened and could use a kind person right now.”

“You told that man you were going to be there,” Helena said.

“There's something I need to do, and he can't know I'm doing it,” she replied. “He's not going to like it.”

“But you are determined to do it anyways,” Minerva said.

“Yes, I am,” she said confidently, pulling off her robes and holding them out to the Headmistress. “Thank you again, for everything.”

Minerva held out Hermione's small beaded bag and a tin can. “Tap the bottom once to get where we discussed, twice to get to the cemetery,” she said.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, putting on the bag. She looked around one more time before tapping the bottom of the can once. It glowed bright blue and seconds later Hermione was pulled through space by an invisible hook, landing in a dark, rainy park lit only by the neon lights of a roadside motel on the other side of the trees. After taking a moment to get her bearings she took off, ducking between the trees, pausing to let a truck pass on the road before darting across. She made for the door in front of the parked Impala and rapped sharply three times. She heard some movement in the room, then a sharp profanity. A moment later Dean opened the door a crack.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you right now,” he growled.

“I'm here about Sam,” she replied.

“I should have fucking known,” he grumbled, studying her for a moment before opening the door and motioning her in with a wave of his gun. She hesitated, so he put it on the table by the door and walked to the other side of the room, picking up a bottle of whiskey and taking a long pull. “I knew he had been running off to visit a girl for a while, I should have known it was you,” he said, sitting on one of the beds. “It started about the time I last saw you. But I thought Sammy was smarter... never mind. What do you want?”

“You and I are going to have to make a truce,” she said, lowering herself stiffly into a chair. “I'm going to be joining you.”

“Like hell you are,” he snapped.

“You have to know what he's been seeing,” she shot back.

“Yeah, I do. And we've been handling it. You're not needed.”

“I know you think that, but it's getting worse,” she retorted. “It's only a matter of time...”

“No. It's not,” he replied firmly.

“Do you honestly think with everything going on that he's not in danger of that happening? Are you willing to stake what it'll cost him on you being right?”

Dean glared at her and took another drink.

“He needs all the support he can get right now. Now, like it or not, he and I have been seeing each other a year. I could help support him.”

“He and I have been to literal hell and back. We have had our rough spots, but we've always had each other's backs.”

“That doesn't mean you can't open up to another support structure for Sam. Dean, I'm afraid he's about to break, and it's going to be bad. I don't want to be on the other side of the world with a job to worry about when that happens. I've resigned just so I could be close to Sam, if that doesn't show you how committed I am to being there for him. I am not asking you to like me, I am asking that you and I put aside our differences for Sam's sake.”

Dean studied her for a minute. “You know he and I aren't going to stop hunting because of this, right? That whatever is happening in his head is going to be worse if we stop and focus on it.”

“I know. I didn't expect any less.”

“Hunting gets people killed.”

She swallowed. “It wouldn't be my first hunting trip,” she said softly. “Though I hunted something much different. Parts of a man's soul, no, not a man, the most evil dark wizard my world has known. My friends and I had to hunt down the bits of soul he fractured by murdering, destroy the objects they were connected to, and then kill him. It took over a year, several battles, and my torture to do it, but we did. People told me I should go on the run, like my family, but I stayed so I could support my friend knowing full well that he was going to have to be the one to end it, and there was a good chance I would have to sacrifice myself at some point to keep him going. I am as devoted to Sam now as I was to Harry then. I am not an idiot. I know what is out there, I know what Dick Roman is, and I know what lies ahead. I want to be there for Sam, but it's not going to help him if he has to worry that you and I are going to harm each other.”

He sighed and took another drink, finishing the bottle. He strode across the room, opened another, and poured some into two plastic glasses. Walking slowly back across the room he held both cups out to her, letting her choose one, and took a drink from the other before sitting back down. “I don't like it, but my priority is and always has been Sammy. You're right, he can use as many allies on our side as we can get right now. But I still don't like you, Granger. And don't think for one second that I'm sharing a hotel room with you.”

“Fair enough,” she said, lifting the glass and taking a drink.

“You really think it's going to be that bad?” he muttered.

“He thinks he's hiding it better than he is, but I think he sees Lucifer more often than he doesn't at this point,” she replied, concern thick in her voice.

“What are we going to do?”

“I don't know,” she shook her head. “Our best. For him. That's all we can do.”

He exhaled loudly, then jumped and swore as light shot into the room, forming into a cat, which spoke in Minerva's voice.

“It's done,” the Patronus said before disappearing.

“That's my cue,” she muttered, quickly finishing the drink and standing up.

“I thought those things got rid of those demented things?” he snapped.

“They carry messages, too,” she replied, pulling out the can and her wand. “You have a lot to learn about my world. I look forward to working with you,” she added cheekily, seeing him shoot her a dark look before tapping the can twice.

When she arrived at the cemetery Sam and Hagrid were waiting for her. Sam saw her bag and, recognizing it as what she would pack things in for a visit, looked at her in confusion.

“What's going on?” he asked.

“I'm coming hunting with you,” she replied.

“Hermione...”

“Not negotiable,” she said firmly. “I've already quit my job and made arrangements.”

“I don't want you in danger,” he protested.

“And I don't want you in danger. Sometimes we don't get what we want,” she replied.

“Hogwarts is gonna miss yeh,” Hagrid said, sounding close to tears.

“I'll visit as often as I can,” she smiled, wrapping her arms around him as far as they would go, then standing by Sam as Hagrid left. “Are you ready to go?” she asked.

“Is there any point in arguing?” Sam sighed.

“Only if you want to lose,” she shook her head.

“Dean isn't going to like it.”

“Let me worry about Dean.”

He sighed in defeat. “When we get there you and I are going to have a long talk about some ground rules. I never wanted you to go hunting.”

“I wasn't planning on ever going. But how often do hunters start hunting because things are just fine and they feel like doing it? Hunters start because something bad has happened to their loved ones. I know what you're up against, and I'm not waiting until I get into this for revenge.”

He looked pained, but took her in his arms and kissed her. “Ready?” he murmured.

“Ready,” she nodded, tapping the can once and leaving the UK behind.

 


End file.
